


Uncloaked Allies

by JeanFi



Series: Scratch [1]
Category: Aliens vs Predators Series - Various Authors, Predators (2010), Yautja - Fandom
Genre: Budding Romance, Character Death, Cultural Explorations, Developing Relationship, F/M, Friendship, Infant Death, grieving husband and father, love making
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-16
Updated: 2019-03-10
Packaged: 2019-10-29 11:42:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17807357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JeanFi/pseuds/JeanFi
Summary: Suppose our Captured Classic Predator is actually slyer than we think and has found a way to deceive Mr. Black into believing he was dead?  And is actually able to help sniper-Isabelle escape the planet.Isabelle and Spike team up together in more ways than one. Both of them are the only members of their 'teams' to survive. Now they have to find a way home.  Has Paya answered Spike's prayers?{This will become an additional chapter to my story Scratch, but for now, have a one shot}Edit.  This was SUPPOSED to be a one shot.  But that got derailed, sent off a cliff, and down into the Laurentian Abyss





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Predators 2010 Derek Mears as 'Classic Predator'
> 
> https://www.imdb.com/title/tt1424381/mediaviewer/rm3902943232
> 
> https://www.imdb.com/title/tt1424381/mediaviewer/rm3167125760
> 
> In case you would like reference to the images I used.

 Isabelle and Royce limp their way into the jungle, only to look up and see more parachutes coming down.   Shortly after, another ship like the one that they had hoped to escape on comes over, and is heard landing just beyond their sightline.  
   He grouses. “Get closer and find out what we are up against?  Or do we hold up, rest and wait to take on them and everything else that dropped in?” He takes a deep breath.  Neither option sounds good, but which is the lesser of the two evils?   
   And she knows it too.  
  “If I had a coin, I would flip it.”  Her attempt at humor amuses him more than her.  
  “Come on, let’s see how close we can get while keeping our heads down.”  
  “Alright, sounds fine with me.  Just let me know if you need to stop for a break.”

  This time a snort of a laugh comes out. But that’s all the amused-energy he has for their situation. It’s more than she has though, and they continue to slog their way in the direction they last sighted the ship.

    Something moves catching the corner of Isabelle’s eyes, and she grips Royce’s side, but says nothing. He’s smart enough to recognize her tightening grip as a signal, and turns his head to see what she has locked her eyes on, but not stopping their movements.  No need to let their enemy know they are aware of them.  
     They both blink, not sure at first what they are actually seeing, but then with careful sniper’s sight, tune into the Predator-cloaking shield. Chills go down the spines as hairs prick up.  The cloak may not make the creature completely invisible, but their identity is still hidden.  
    That is, until the shield to the face and then the rest of the crouched form is revealed. The two humans stop, and are able to take a breath. Still they don’t know if the creature they helped earlier is still going to be their ally.  
     A clawed long finger comes up to his mouth in the universal ‘shh’ motion. Royce leans into Isabella and whispers so lightly it would sound like leaves rustling.  
   “I trust him.”  
   “I thought he was decapitated?” She whispers back her concern.  
   “Well…?” With a slight shrug, Royce is asking her if she wants to trust a ghost, or go at this alone.  
   With a gulp, she gives him a more gentle squeeze. To the other, she finally resigns to his help with the slightest dip of her chin.  
   But whispers back, “He’s got a hell of a lot of explaining to do.”  
  Royce chokes back the beginning of a snigger-snort, feeling a bit sorry for this creature when Isabelle begins interrogating him.

   The Prisoner (as she identifies him, for he might be the same species as her captures, but clearly is not like them) stays crouched by the tree, but by his next movements, he has keen enough eyesight and has seen her acknowledgement. Even the amused exchange between the humans.  
   With an internal sigh, he misses his clan dearly.

   The poor Prisoner is in just as bad of shape as the two humans before him. But he is stronger than them at this point, and takes charge of the situation. First points to himself, then his gauntlet and then the direction of the latest ship.  
   Royce silently huffs, and she looks up to him to see he frowns pursing his lips. With his free hand, motions to the sky with just one barely lifted finger and his exploding finger tips. A reminder of what happened to the last ship the Prisoner was going to help them escape on.

    Clearly the Prisoner does not like being reminded that the Black Leader (now dead, thanks to all of them) sabotaged the ship rather than let anyone escape.  His mandible-fangs pull in tight to his face in his own ‘pursed lip’ expression.  
   Isabelle would say it’s cutely-funny if the situation wasn’t so dire.  
   But with a cock of his head, making his dreads swing, he flicks both sets of long green-blood covered fingers to his whole form, and then a curl of his wrists to explain ‘well I’m still here, aren’t I?’  
   God Isabelle really wants to say something, but instead grins broadly while biting tightly to her lower lip.  Yes, he most certainly WILL have to explain how he survived being decapitated.  Sassy thing!  
   But, instead the hand motions repeated instructions that they are to quietly follow him at a distance and a different course to the ship. Yes everyone knows the injured humans will be bait, but if it will help them get off this prison planet, than they all need to work together.

      Several yards down the way, the ship comes into view.  Three more of these bad-blood aliens exit the ship. Isabelle and Royce can see their ally has gotten himself up a tree and across a branch in a perfect ‘drop-bear’ position.  
    Isabelle makes her way one direction and Royce another. It is not going to be easy, but hopefully these three can be caught off guard quickly enough.  And our three prisoners can be on their way home.

     Royce makes the first move, catching all of their attention. As they move to him, Isabelle fires her rifle taking the first one out in one clean shot through the head and the Prisoner drops making his move. A perfect landing, but now it is a tussle and a rustle. Punches, swinging wrist blades, snarling and a few kicks. No one holds still long enough for Isabelle to get another shot off.  
    Royce is tossed and smacked into a rock, making his opponent come after Isabelle. She is no match for a well rested and stronger muscled warrior. His leap is on her while she is still trying to line up Prisoner’s opponent. He takes her rifle and flings it high and far.  He going to drive a fist into her, when a rock nails him in the back of the head.  
    This Predator is insulted. Sure he should take the easy kill before him, but there is no way he will take the chance of being wounded by a mere ROCK from a petty very injured ooman! With dreads flaying out in the turn of his head, drives the wrist blades through the air ready to hit anything coming his way.  
    Royce is moving at full speed ready to clonk another large rock over this guy’s head, only to be stopped by the extended wrist blades, rock falling to the ground. He HAD expected the beast to continue his strike on an easy kill, and figured he had time to knock him down before he could do too much damage… or that Isabelle would roll out of the way.  Either way, he didn’t expect what he received.  
   “Aw crap,” he grunts.  
   Isabelle pulls the large bladed knife they had found along the way, from her calf and slices this beast before her right in the leg artery. And for good measure, goes for the other leg as well. As he roars, sinking to his knees,  Royce tries to get himself away.  
   Yes Royce knows that removing the blades will probably do him more harm, but he just HAS to get away from these guys.

    A guttural choke is heard behind them, and a slice, with a triumphant roar. Their opponent snarls shaking his head viciously.  Angry, he reaches for his wrist gantlet but Royce throws his body over it. They wrestle for control of it, until the Prisoner rushes over and with a swift slice of a disk like weapon, the head is removed.  
    Royce sighs, “Is that all of them?”  
    A jerk of a deadlock-head acknowledges their success.  
   “Good.”  And rolls off the dead arm.  
   “Ah Royce!  Why did you have to do that?  Look at you!” Isabelle moves to try covering his gushing belly wounds.  
   “I wasn’t going to let them win another round.”  
   The Prisoner snorts in agreement to that, releasing the gantlet from the dead foe and then going to the other two to remove theirs as well.  
   Royce grabs for Isabelle’s hands but she won’t remove them from his gut.  Both of them know he will be gone soon.  Those are some pretty vicious serrated blades designed to do more harm coming out than going in.  
  Isabelle knows she should try to help any other humans that just arrived here, but she just hasn’t got it in her to fight any more.

    The Prisoner, their ally, returns to them, kneeling down. He punches into one of the loose gantlets, and a spliced human mimicry speaks, “Must leave. Dark soon.”  
    Royce looks up to the larger one and finally takes one of Isabella’s hands from his wound, “W-would you take her home?”  
    The slow dip of a canted head says it all: ’it would be my honor’.  
    Royce lays the human hand into the alien one, holding them together. “It was a pleasure fighting for something truly worth while with good allies.”  
    Prisoner shakes his head punching in another response, “There was no honor here”  And with a pause, adds,  “Only allies.”  
    Royce coughs up more blood to a light smile.   
    Prisoner knows that a few more moments won’t hurt them, for Royce has less than that left.

    Sure enough, Royce’s hand goes slack and the remaining allies watch the hand slip off of both of theirs.  A few breaths later, and Prisoner rises, extending his hand to Isabelle.  
    She takes a sharp inhale and a long exhale. Laying her hand in the larger one, it surprises her how gentle a large muscular and clawed hand can be.

     When her hand grips his tightly, and she pulls up to stand, he realizes two things:  one, she is really injured; and two she is a finely toned warrior in her own right. Now he knows why the Bad Bloods had chosen her for their so called hunt.  
    But now he had a promise to keep.  
    He matches his gait to her limping form.

~~~~8~~~~  
    Some how they make it up the ramp and into the ship, swiftly he punches into one of the captured gantlets and the ramp closes tightly, and soon the ship lifts off the ground.  
   Isabelle holds onto the back of the pilot’s chair watching through the windshield as the trees become smaller, and the sky becomes darker in their lift to outer space.  
   Leaving this planet. Leaving all those humans behind. Even Royce that she only knew shortly… her heart is breaking.  
   Like all of her military training, now that relief and peace looks to be at hand, her body relaxes on how much adrenaline it pumps out. Pain receptors come back online, fatigue is recognizable…

   They don’t shoot off like in so sci-fi movie into hyper-flight. It’s more of a cruise or a drift. First gear in a small car. Our Yautja savior notices and tries to override safety protocol systems. He’s been on this Paya-forsaken planet for far too long and he just WANT TO GO HOME!!

    The sound from her ally is nothing short of a cuss. Translation is not needed. But he also is intelligent enough to slam his fist to his thigh rather than the equipment before them.  
   Something else she notices is that he is using his right middle and ring fingers to punch some commands, while his left hand he uses all four of his claw tipped fingers and the thumb. For as muscular as he is, his finger movements remind her of a dancer on toe-point. Delicate, but precise in their movements. Graceful, and light touched, but the skill of finely tuned muscle control is not missed.  
   Who would ever think of seeing a lion dancing on his claw tips? Or more like, a cheetah using a typewriter?  
   She rubs a palm over her face knowing she is clearly starting to lose it, and not because of some drug this time!

   With a huff, and an alien grouse, fingers activate the mimicry while the ship coasts into a low orbit over a moon.  
   “Decontamination protocols. No hyper flight.”  
   Isabelle looks down at herself.  Grime, muck, several kinds of bodily fluids… Royce‘s red blood…  “Yeah, well I can’t blame the ship.”  
   Right there at the top of her new friend’s mouth, looks something like nostril/scent receptors. And they are trying to close tightly.  As if they both smell like they got skunked.  
  “Can’t override. Do not want to stay here.”  A frown is more than apparent.  
  Once again she is nodding. “Let’s get this over with then.”

   He rises, and takes a moment to lay a hand to her shoulder, then pats it lightly. He seems grateful for her acceptance to this very awkward situation.  
   He takes her to the back of the ship and points to a small alcove. Already he is trying to remove his shoulder armor, but is grunting more than succeeding.  
   Isabelle is the one to finger motion this time. “Come here.”  His eyes roll, but she glares, “Hey!  You still have to explain how you got your head reattached and if I should be worried about any more of those non-buddies of yours coming back to life.”  
   The  mandibles flare, the eyes close, the chest clearly chuckles. The noise from said chest has her smiling.  Who knew an alien chuckle could be contagious?  
     
    He pats her hand aside once she gets the shoulder guard off. With a few punches of the other gauntlet, she sees his image change from natural, to invisible cloak, to what she had witnessed:  his head falling of it’s spine.  
   Punch, tap, and he is back to normal. Isabelle is gaping. He wiggles his magic claws again and she hears the answer.  
   “I’m a master technician. My specialty: cloaking.”  
   She sighs in great relief. “Oh thank goodness you are not a ghost!”  
  Once more he laughs heartily, before turning her and a gentle shove into the alcove chamber.

   And then once again he is snorting in frustration.  
   “Okay, what NOW?!” She is also grunting.  
   “Too light.”  
   “Excuse me?” She shoots him an offended glare.  
  His cheeks are so cute turning a greenish tinge and trying to wave his hands from whatever she may throw at him. After all, he knows better than to offend a female! It’s suicide!  
   He points to the floor, “Pressure plate. A child would need adult to help them.”  
   He steps in with her and the door closes around them, proving his point.  
   With some struggling he starts to remove his belt. “Sorry, we have to… together. Will not dishonor you, I vow.”  With a very respectful splayed hand over his heart.

   And that’s where she notices why he was having problems at the control panel at the helm.  A few broken claws, that he would normally use as finger tips.  Much like a human with broken or crushed fingers.  
     “Your hand!”  
    She reaches for it, but then instantly stops. “I’m sorry if that was too forward of me.  I… I trust you now, just so you know.”  
   His head lowers in a most regal way making her heart just melt. What a gentleman.  A classic knight of old myth and legend.  
     
    To truly show he has her trust, she rips off her clothing and chucks the boots to the floor as well. She even releases what is left of her messy pony tail, shaking leaves and dirt and a bug out of it.  
   He squashes the bug with his foot and then lifts his face.  Of course he is curious of the person before him, but he is careful not to ogle or stare, just access.  
    To his relief, he notices she is doing the same with cheeks as flushed at his own. The gentleman in him helps move their rescue along by using a thumb to flick the catches to his metal gauntlets.  
    After setting the electronic gauntlets onto a special shelf, he tries to remove his leather wrist guards. But he is chuffing lightly in more frustration.   
   “Let me help.”  
   He resigns himself to her assistance. Her fingers are aching as well, but she is deft in releasing the catches.  “These are beautiful. Did you make them?”  
   His head shakes lightly.  
   “I’m glad you can understand me.”  She starts on the other one trying not to stare at his unique physique and chest ‘hair‘.  
   “You do quite well at non-verbal communication.  It’s a relief. Even many humans are bad at that.”  
   The snort is cute and the eyes relay their amusement.  
  “I wish I could understand your language so we can have an easier time.”

   He holds up a hand as if to say ‘wait’ then rotates a finger to their chamber, and then points to the rest of the ship.  
   She smiles,  “Ah- right, I’m traveling with a technician. He’s got an idea?”  
   The finger taps her head like she is a smart one.

   Once his belt is removed, he turns his back to her and crouches.  One hand pulls his dreadlocks to the side, the other finger points to the latches to his neck guard.  
   It’s beautiful and reminds her of one of the African tribes that add the rings each year to their members. But in this case, his is truly used as a guard for his neck. She is careful in releasing the catches, and then hands it to him. This too he sets to the special shelf and the door closes over it beginning their cleaning process.  
    
   He reaches forward and with two broken fingertips, pinches her nose closed snuggly, and closes her eyes. Before she can ask, a deluge of hot water falls from above.  
   Not for long, but the deluge is enough to soak her hair completely and force plenty of grub and grime off.  
  He releases her nose, and tips his head to ask if she is alright. She rubs the water from her face, and nods.  
   To her relief, the next part of the cycle is a steaming sauna with the smell of sage and a couple other plants.  Not all of the scents are familiar to her, but with the way her pores are opening, and her body is melting, she doesn’t care.  
    A moan escapes her. A moan that she really wished he hadn’t heard.  
    But then she hears his own.  
    And they look back at each other. Blaming the flush due to the extreme steam… they both know better.  This sauna is feeling so good.  
   “Okay, I like this safety protocol.  I give it a ten.”  
   He chuckles.  
   A panel opens and he takes the sponge.  With a twirl of his finger, she knows to turn around.  
   With his first press to her back, she leans against the wall for it to take her weight instead of her leg. The sponge has exfoliating properties to it, and even if it is meant for scrubbing tougher skin, like her partner’s, it still feels very good on hers.  That deluge did not remove nearly enough of the planet from her skin.  
   His motions are careful to cover every bit of her back, pushing hair aside to get into the neck and even behind the ears, not missing a spot.  He is even kind enough to do her legs and arms.  But he taps her shoulder to hold it over her shoulder, right above her breast. This he is not willing to scrub.  
  “Chicken?” She teases, too relaxed and massaged to put a filter on her tongue.  
   With two claws on the other hand, he gently turns her chin to look up at his.  One is to check if she is alright, the other is to rebuke her with a click and a flick of a mandible.  
   She smiles and takes the sponge, “Allll-right,” and he steps back.

   Just as he had been careful to get every inch of skin to her back, she does to her front.  
  “My name is Isabelle.”  
  “Iszzz….HO…bowl,” he does his best to pronounce with his own vocal cords. It comes out a bit slaughtered, but she is pleased he is not calling her Bella, Izzy, Elizabeth or something else.  
  With something like a chirr-purr sound and a slight hiss he says, “Isssz’o’bl”  
   He tries a few other pronunciations while she scrubs her feminine parts. For some reason, it makes her feel even more comfortable and even safe to hear him working with her name. She is not alone. She is not being stalked sexually, as an enemy, or even for her puny life.

  “Okay buddy, your turn,” she turns round and copies his finger motion.  
  He is still trying out her name in his turn, when he sudden stops and points to himself shaking his head, “Bud-y?” chuffing out a negative. With a snort, proudly raises his head, then stares her down, “P’ke.”  
  She giggles and thumbs the rubbery like ‘hair-spikes’ to his chest. “Sure thing, Spike.  Now turn round,” and shoves his shoulder.

   He turns as she insists, and to his own moan, giving in to lean against the wall like she did. She scrubs, and every time he makes those comforting noises, she knows she has done it right.  
   Reciprocating his kind attention, she also scrubs down his thick and muscular legs. She has to admit, they feel strong, and just increasing this safe feeling to be with him.  
  With a press, she takes his foot and scrubs the bottom and this time he positively melting-growls, sagging his forehead to the wall.  
   She takes extra time to his feet, for he deserves it.  On top of that, trying to stand back up is the last thing she wants to do right now.  
   But when his hand reaches between his legs, and flicks his fingers to hand over the sponge, she does so and giggles to use his hips to help her pull herself back to a standing posture.  
  He cocks a brow at her, but she shoes her fingers for him to continue his male parts. This time he is shaking his head wondering if she is losing it… or maybe he is.

   “Would it be alright if I call you Spike?”  
  He jerks his head down in a swift yes, and replies, “Iszz’bl.”  
  “I like the way you say my name,” she settles back against the other wall letting the steam take away everything else, further trying to comb her fingers through her hair, praying this spa treatment could take away the nightmares she knows will come later.

~~8~~  
   Neither knows how long they have been in the decontamination chamber, but both groan in sadness when the exhaust fan pulls all the soothing heat and moisture and all the spores, grime and everything else from the chamber, even her fabric cloth she left on the floor.  Luckily the boots are too heavy to be shucked out.  
  Next, they are soon blasted with ice cold air further killing anything that survived the heat but can not survive the cold. That too is expelled.

   Satisfied they are safely cleansed, the chamber door opens, and two folded pieces of thickly woven cloth is waiting in another opened cabinet. Spike (as her brain now recognizes him) flicks one, and then swiftly draws it round her shoulders.  
   “ooooo,”  she melts.  Even pulling the fabric up to her nose, and burying her face into it. It smells of soft soothing wood. Something one might find in some extraordinary-expensive spa.  
   He openly purrs, wrapping himself in his towel like blanket. He too rubs his face into the comforting fabric.  His eyes peek over the edge of the fold to ’pledged to god/Paya’, if he remembers his Earth-language studies. He was but a pup back then, but he always did enjoy the meaning of names, no matter the culture.  
  “Isz’bl.” He reaches a finger out, drawing one claw through her still somewhat tangled hair.  
  She winces when he finds a knot, and he winces in apology.  
   Both of them are safe, comfortable and clean.  They smile when their sighs come out at the same time.

   A beep has his head swirling, dreadlock bands clinking together.  He rushes to the helm, wrapping the towel around his waist in the process.  
   Isabelle wraps hers under her arms, and tucks the tail in, following him.  
   With flying fingertips, careful of the damaged ones, the ship is soon shooting off faster than before, if the stars streaking past their screen are any indication,  
  He grabs her wrist and yanks her to his lap, with no time to explain. He wraps one arm around her waist, the other deftly continuing to give the ship commands.  
    She is nervous about what is to happen next, when the flashing red warning signals come across the HUD.  
   Instinct is to ask, ’What’s that?”  but training has taught her to observe rather than distract. After all, flashing red lights never mean anything good, and does she really want to know they will be blown away, or just stay right here with someone who has risked his own skin to save hers?  
   She lays a hand over his wrist securing her waist, with a reassuring squeeze. “I trust you, Spike.”  
   A small puff of relief comes out, but of course not all his worries have been expelled yet.  
   
    Certainly doesn’t help when the whole ship rocks and new alarms begin going off. He’s cussing again, and so she laces her fingers through his to remind him he isn’t alone in this.  
   He spares just a mere movement to graze her cheek with his before leaning over to touch a control higher up on the helm.  
   She gapes watching two things fire from this ship. One to the right and one to the left.  They both rip a hole in the black star streaked ’sky’. Wormholes -thank you sci-fi movies-!  Never in her life did she ever expect to see one.

    He pulls his hand from her body, and flicks the second hand out over more controls.  Isabelle is careful to keep her self out of his movements and sightline to grip the arm rests.  
   To her shock a five point harness swiftly comes over them, securing them to the chair together. She does not mind one bit, but would rather have been in some sort of flight suit rather than just a towel.  
   “Forgive me if I shit myself,” she grips.  
   He snorts, “Same!” And they jerk to the right being rocked again by their foe.  
    At the last possible moment, he flicks aside, not entering the right hand wormhole, but she does catch their assailant shoot right through!  Their ship swings round and fires a round into the wormhole and then with a punch of his fingers, it closes.  
   And coming round the backside of the left wormhole they opened, shoot right through and snap it closed instantly,  
  Spike swiftly opens another wormhole and they escape through that one too.  
    From here, they seem to fly even faster.  
   Only then does he seem to relax, his body sagging into the seat. Isabelle sags against him too, taking his damaged hand and holding it close to her chest.  
   “That was amazing. I don’t think I even crapped myself.”  
  He snorts, but weaves his fingers through hers. Taking a moment to breathe.

   Well until they both catch a flashing red light and he cusses again, releasing their harness.  
   First they rise and he makes his way over to one of the stolen wrist gauntlets. He even pulls one of his now cleaned leather guards from the cleaning compartment.  
   With a inching of his finger, she comes over to him by a makeshift workstation.  With those tiny screwdriver like tools like the techs and radio repair teams use back at the shop, he fiddles with the gauntlet.  He removes one of his dread-bands and attaches a couple wires and something else to it.  
  She watches most interested, amazed at his large fingers being able to do more tiny deft skills.  
  He uses a knuckle to lift her chin, and turns her head carefully. Another long claw is ever so gentle in curling her long hair over an ear so that the shell is exposed.  Then carefully, he places the now cut band to her ear like a decorative ear-cuff.  Then he first places on of his leather guards to her arm to protect her softer skin from the metal gauntlet he then snaps on, and activates.  
  “My cousin designed these,” he says in his tongue can she hears both his clicking, but also a male voice speaking English softly into her ear.  
  She blinks, and stares up to his concerned eyes. “You-your cousin?”  
  Glee is written all over his face. “You understood me?!!”  
  Tears streaming down her face she nods viciously,  
  Another knuckle draws her tear away. “Why the tears?”  
  “Joy, tears of joy. I can finally understand you… my friend.”  
  The whole face falls and he leans his head towards hers, touching their foreheads. “You honor me, ‘pledged to Paya’”  
   “Paya?”  
    Even more reverently, he brings the palm of his hand to his heart, just like when he vowed not to ‘dishonor’ her. “My goddess is named Paya. Forgive me if I have misinterpreted your name.”  
   Now the tears are absolutely streaking down her cheeks. She does not care if he minds or not, she wraps her arms around his neck, clutching him tightly.  “And here I was just calling you Hairy and you call me something so beautiful.”  
    
  At first he is unsure how to take the ooman-female latching herself to him, most certainly when she is crying. Then on top of that she has called him…furry?  Like some kind of pelt?  
  “Furry? Hairy?” He asks.   
   The rumble against her ear is confused, not upset.  She pulls back and play with one of his dreadlocks before running her thumb across his ‘hairy studded’ collar and then down part of his chest.  
   His head totters right and left in understanding.  Then lifts her chin to look into her worried eyes.  “On your planet, isn’t a furry creature considered cute?”  
   She nods.  
  “And ‘cute’ is a comfort. Something you enjoy having around?”  
   Once more she nods, sniffling, feeling a bit silly.  
  His head tips cutely to the side, “So did you just tell me that I am cute and comforting to YOU?”  
   Her chin wibbles and she nods, “Yes, you are Spike. Your ‘hairs‘ are a bit more spiky than mine.”  
   He weaves a hand into her dark locks and lets them slide through his fingers. “Umm, well I do like your dreadlocks, too.”  
   She giggles, and leans into him again.  
   He soothes a hand up and down her back a few times before his stomach grumbles.  Hers answers and they both chuckle.

    With a gentle hand to her back, he guides her over to another chair near the helm.  He points, and she sits.  
   A few minutes later he comes back with two mugs and a couple bars of something that reminds her of beef jerky.  He hands them to her, “These are human safe, even if they taste bad.”  
   “I’m ready to eat my boots.”  
  He glances back to her shoes still sitting in the decontamination chamber. He pokes the meat-bar, “Definitely tastes better.”  
  This time she snorts and takes a bite. Somewhere between lamb and alpaca, it tastes rather good. “I like this.”  
   He grumbles, apparently he’s not so happy about it.  
  She reaches over, to snag his, “Well if you don’t like it-” he slaps her hand away like some pest, giving her a weak growl of warning.  
  She giggles.

   Who would ever think she would be comfortable with someone new withOUT having her rifle in her hands.  Even Royce.  
   That changes her posture.  
   “I’m sorry about your companions,” Spike tells her, then takes a pull on his warm tea.  
    “Companions, yeah that is one way to put it.  Fellow prisoners.  What about you?”  
     He leans back, propping his heels to the helm, flicking his eyes to the flashing red words, and then back to his tea before answering her.  “We were on our way to a planet that was going through environmental abnormalities to rescue a research team… and their families.”  
   “Ohhh,” her heart sags for him.  
   “Luckily, we were able to get them extracted, but I was on the last ship carrying our repair team. Very few of us have passed our chiva.”  
  “Chiva?”  
   He ponders how to answer it, when he reaches over and taps her wrist. “Say ‘chiva’ here and it will define it for you,” she hears through the translator.  
  So she does as he says and her translator gives the briefest description, “right of passage for warrior class’.  
   “Warrior, I thought you were a technician?”  
   He shrugs, “Helps to have at least one of us on the team who passed Chiva in case we are attacked.”  Then his shoulders sag and he can not even face her. “I…failed them.  I should not even have survived.”  
   “Neither should I.  I should have stayed back there and helped the new arrivals, but I just…couldn’t fight any more.  Even as a sniper, that is way too much death.”  
   He lifts his head in surprise. “S-sniper?!”  Yes, her translator even picked up his stutter. “Ooman female expert?!”  
   She nods softly. “Does that make me…terrible?”  
   The feet drop and he turns sharply to her. “Absolutely NOT!  In our culture, female warriors are NOT uncommon. They are the ones who are most skilled in defending their homes, children, and even smaller male-mates.  There are more female warriors than male.”  
   That doesn’t satisfy her through, still looking down to her tea.  “I didn’t mean for your culture, I meant for you.”  
    He lays a hand over hers, “Please do not be upset by what I am going to tell you next.” She doesn’t move, so he says it softly nudging a knuckle under her chin, “Isz’bl, look at me.”  
   So she does lift her head and look into his sympathetic expression. Oh how she loves looking at his natural face, without all the blood smears.  Lovely freckles, a fringe to his crown that reminds her of an apple pie her grandmother would make. The long dreadlocks, banded at precise increments, just like any nerd would do…   
   When he sees she has softened, he continues.  “As you may have guessed, Yautja, my people -the good ones- honorably hunt species for the trophies of their skulls. Yours: a ooman female specialized soldier would be a highly prized trophy.”  
   She does wince, but to her credit, does not recoil from him.  
   “But, to have a specialized ooman soldier, let alone female one, ally with one of us?  MY CLAN prizes that even more. Not a slave, not an ornament on the wall.  Someone who is enlightened and compassionate enough to take the time to know us, and not let fear be their primary instinct.”  
   This time he blushes and has to pull his hand away. He even clears his throat. “There…there are some oomans -male or female- that have decided to join our society and become mates.”

   That is a complex thought to ponder.  Her eyes are nearly spinning as she settles back into her chair. Not pulling away from him, but reclining to muddle over new information.  
   Spike turns away from her as to see to the red blinking warning. With more exploration of the systems, he finds that the problem is not something he will be able to fix with out landing the ship where there are replacement parts. If he lands the ship, he will never be able to break orbit again.  
   He slumps back and sighs.  His options are limited.

   “Spike?”  
   He turns only his head, “Hum?” needs no translations.  
   That brings a tiny smile to her. “What did you find out?  How bad are we damaged?”  
   That wrinkles his brow, “How-?!”  
   She points to the blinking red warning.  “Blinking red lights are never a good sound. Grumpy technicians AND blinking red lights mean something really bad.”  
    He rocks his head against the head rest and thunks one broken finger to her forehead, “Yes, most certainly like your head attached.  Some others of my own clan, though?” He raises his hands as if to hold them off. “Even their skulls I never want to see again!”  
   She roars with laughter, nearly spilling her tea.  
  “Can I tell you a secret?”  
   He rolls to his side, so much like a kid at a slumber party, so she does too.  “I had a commander pay me to take out one of the members of my own team because he couldn’t stand him any more. Paid me extra when the body could not be recovered.”  
   Now he is howling with laughter, making her laugh even harder.

   It takes a bit for them both to calm down and wipe the tears from both of their eyes.  
   “Thank you for saving me, Spike.”  
   “Thank you for coming with me, Isz’bl.”  
  She reaches a hand out taking his, “My pleasure.”  
  He lifts it to his mouth and presses a kiss to it. She’s never had a gentleman kiss her hand in such chivalry and now here she is very much enjoying his company.  She will miss him greatly when she gets home.  
   Home?  What is that anymore?  
   “I have some bad news,” he doesn’t release her hand.  
   “The ship is in bad shape. I have sent out an encrypted message that only my clan will understand. But I don’t know how long it will be until they receive it, let alone be able to rescue us.”  
   “But, you aren’t punching things or sounding too heart broken, so there must be good news?” She squeezes.  
   And his heart leaps. Has he fallen in love?  
   “Spike? You okay?”  
   He nods, and coughs lightly to clear his brain. “Yes. It will mean being placed into a cryo-chamber.”  
   “Like a stasis pod?  Deep hibernation sleep?”  
   “Yes, exactly. I have a feeling you have never done it?” He gives a gentle squeeze.  
   “Have you?”  
   “Once.”  
   “And?”  
   He shivers, “The side effects left me severely space-sick. I prayed I would never have to experience it again.”  His eyes turn very soft, “But I made you  a promise.”  
   “You would get sick for me?”  
  He smirks, “I would break all my claws for you,” he twitters his fingers.  
  “No need to go that far, I just want to see you puke.”

   There he groans and playfully tosses her hand aside. A shaking finger rebukes her, “Don’t make me regret this.”  
    She giggles but rises from her chair gathering both of their mugs and following him.

    To the side, he once again has his claws dancing and lights are reminding her of a dance club floor under his tips. Of all the people she could have gotten stranded with, a technician was probably the best.  
     Moments later, two panels release, and pods are revealed. He motions for her towards one. He slides back the clear cover, and taking her hand helps her inside.  He takes another blanket and lays it over the top of her, tucking it under her feet and around her body.  
   “Rest, Isz’bl. Paya guide your dreams,” slowly stroking his hand over her head once.  On the second pass, cards his fingers through her hair.  
  He starts to step back, but she makes a death grip to his wrist.  “Can-can you stay with me?  P’ke, I’m… I’m terrified.”

   He takes a slow inhale and then a slow exhale. Not because he doesn’t want to or can’t, but because he really wants to.  
    Has Paya blessed him? Has Paya actually put one of her prophets in human form right there into his arms? Has Paya watched over him all this time and seen his lonely heart?

   He gulps, then ever so slowly nods. “Just, a moment.”  
   She lets his wrist go, but clutches her hands to her chest afraid that he just said that so he could close the pod lid sealing her inside a potential tomb all alone.  
   For all the years she has needed no one, now she needs Spike more than anything. It frightens her more than being hunted on a strange planet.

   She hears the sounds of mechanical hissing and her pod jostled a little. She nearly whimpers keeping an eye on the pod lid.  
   But then his shadow and then his body is back with another blanket. He slides in beside her, careful to cover himself with the other blanket.  
   When the lid starts to close, he taps her nose with a smile, “Don’t blame me if I puke on you upon awakening.”  
  “I won’t. I promise.”  
  As the pressuring hissing begins, she scoots closer to him, “Can I ask one more favor?”  
  He nods sympathetically seeing how her humor has vanished.  
  “Hold me?”  
   His heart flares wide and his arms pull her close, letting her head rest on one bicep where the palm cups her head up against is chest, just under the trail of his spiky-collar bone-hairs.  
   The other comes over her hip to palm her back, holding her securely to his warm frame.  
   He sighs in comfort to the feel of a nice warm body finding comfort with him. This gives him even more comfort. He presses a kiss to her crown, and she nuzzles in, one finger playing with the rubbery-velvet covered spikes.  
  Her other hand slides over his hip under his second blanket, gripping the waist band of the first one.  
  She places her own kiss right over the thrumming of his heart beat and the source of that gentle purring.

    Neither one notices their eyes have closed slipping to sleep as their heart rates slow.  
  Nor do they care.

*****************************  
     “We got word from your cousin! He’s alive!”  
    Scratch drops everything racing to the communications bridge, not caring who he shoves out of the way. Not even the Elder of their clan. Elder Puk’ko follows the racing mechanic.

  “We can’t raise him, but he did say he was going to enter the stasis pod.”  
  “Crap!  It must be serious then!”  
  “His ship is headed …. Oh this is bad.”  
   They all look to the map and groan.  A frozen planet.  
   The Elder hums playing with one of his long decorated dreads,  “Well I suppose it is a good thing we have an expert on cold climates, hum?”

~~~~~  
    Alexis Woods looks up from the clothing she is working on hand stitching together when her guardian Scratch takes her hand, “I need your help.”


	2. Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well crap... I should know myself better by now.  
> One shot my foot.  
> Yep yep yep… the brain is spinning a web of another chapter as well as continuing Scratch's story.

Uncloaked 2

   “Do not… move.”  
   The growled words have an inflection somewhere between an order and a plea. An order that there WILL be consequences if she moves and a plea that he really does not want to unleash said consequence.  
   Thankfully the order is probably the easiest and wisest one to follow.

    Isabelle is a well trained sniper, and ninety percent of the time, holding perfectly still in order to execute her duties. Being a sniper is not just the eyes. It’s a steady hand.  Paying attention to how strong and which direction the breeze brushes against her skin.  Listening sharply for someone encroaching (on purpose or accidentally) on her position or even her target’s position.  It is using all senses at once, compiling the rapidly in coming information, and adjusting as needed. Split second decisions. Even if it is just to hold her breath a moment longer.  
     
    At this exact moment, she is using all those skills once again. The tricky part is that her brain and senses are a bit off.  Like she is emerging from a really bad flu or possibly the best sleep she has ever had. The urge to slip back under this fog clouding her senses is all too tempting.  
   But the voice.  
   Something about that voice is both a comfort but also a reminder that she MUST slice through the fog and like a scope sight, hone all her senses back to their sharpest.  
   Where is she? What happened to make her feel this way?  
   With a silent, slow inhale -careful not to make a sharp inhale that would jostle the owner of  the voice beside her ear- she then also slowly exhales.

   First- Scent:  something like warm olive wood on a summer’s day is prominent. There is a second scent of something acidic-antiseptic.  
   Second- Sound:  muffled voices that she can’t understand. A body larger than her own is also trying to slowly control it’s breath, beside her ear.  Probably the owner of the olive scented-comforting voice.  
    Third- Taste.  Moth-ball mouth, she likes to call it.  That ‘I’ve slept too long and now my mouth feels all fuzzy.’ She could really use a glass of water and a toothbrush. But that will have to wait.  
    Fourth- Touch.  This will give her the most information.  That large body that smells and sounds so comforting is pressed against the whole length of her back side. Obviously taller, wider, and heavier than her own.  A well muscled arm is draped over her body, but a blanket of softest cotton or maybe even Angora is between their skins. She is certain she is being held in place more in comfort, than in restraint.  Even if the words could be deciphered as restraint.  
   Something like suede cords drape over her shoulder and bits of her face. But that too is not uncomfortable. There is something sweet about it.  
   Her head rests on a firm, but occasionally twitching set of bicep muscles.

    Five: Opening her eyes will be the confirmation of all she has accessed so far. The last sense she is dreading to reveal.  Will she return to a new horror, or is this comfort a dream coming true. A peace she has longed and longed for?  
   
     Before she can, she hears a weird sound and half a thought later, a different voice in her right ear:  “This may hurt, but it should help .”  
   A hiss of a hypo-spray and instant growly-snarl in her ear answers if that warning was meant for her companion, not for Isabelle.  And then he grunts putting more of his head’s weight against her own.  
   “Female?  How do you feel?” That voice that warned her companion asks her.  
    “Confused but other than that, alright.  Where am I?”  
   “My home,” the male voice of her companion soothes.  “Welcome to my home, Isz’bl.”  He still sounds tired, maybe even sick, but ever so relieved. HE is comforted. This answers that she should be comforted now. Finally.  
   Finally….

     And it all rushes back. The planet. The other humans that were slaughtered.  The ugly murderers. The exploding ship. Royce.  
    The escape with one of them, but not one of her capturers.  One of their species, but clearly not of their mind set… or heart.

   “Spike?”  
    Someone snorts, and her companion’s mouth smiles against the top of her head, moving her hair as his great mandibles part. “Yes, it is I, your friend Spike.”  
    Very carefully, Isabelle slides her hand as not to make a rough motion, until his moves and the fingers meet. His smile is broader to feel her fingertips exploring the back of his hand. She is very careful in touching the ones with the missing claw tips.  
   “Can I see you?” She asks permission to move.  
    His arm loosens, and she slides to her back, turning her head to meet him face to face.

    Now normally after having just lived through the horror she just had on the ‘hunter’s preserve planet’ on top of finding out that Alien Life is no longer science fiction but science FACT… one would expect the human female to scream and panic.  
   But she doesn’t.  
   “Hello, Spike,” she sweetly smiles.  
   “Hello, Isz’bl,” he smiles back.

   There are a pair of sweet topaz yellow eyes looking at her with concern. His facial skin tone is a bit greener than any part of his neck and naked shoulders, and he seems to be sweating a bit.  
   Her own expression changes from happy accessing to concern. Slowly she raises her hand to grace his cheek, “Hey, there you are.  How are you?”  
    His chest swells upon inhale, the rubbery-velvety spikes along his clavicle and center line brush against her arm bringing this all the more real for her. But not scary real, some how, even more comforting real.  
    “I feel better.” His eyes shift up and she follows his sights to an older female Yautja hovering over both of them still resting in some kind of pod. “Thank you,” his eyes close, and his chin dips ever slightly in gratitude to the medic.  
   Isabelle smiles up to the female. “Yes, thank you for not letting him puke on me.”  
    One claw tip pokes her lightly, “I thought you wanted to see that?”  
   She tugs one of his dreadlocks just as playfully. “I changed my mind. It is after all a woman’s prerogative to do so.”  
   His eyes close and he snorts.

   The medic above them roars in laughter, “Oh, ho I do like this one too!  She stays!”  
   Another body comes into Isabelle’s view. This male is older than her companion if the wrinkled skin and longer graying-dreadlocks are anything to go by. In addition, his attire is heavy with adornments. The way Spike stiffens beside her confirms it.  “Elder…. I--”  
    A hand comes to rest on Spike’s crown, with a soft sound like a purr from his chest. Spike’s eyes melt closed like a cat being petted. Even a mewl escapes when the Elder says, “You are home, young one.”  
     Tears escape her friend’s eyes.  His little ’nose’ sniffles.  
     
     Her heart melts for him.  After what he told her and how he felt about dishonoring his clan-family by not protecting the others, to witness him welcomed home as a missing son….  
    She turns and does her best to embrace her strong guardian feeling a few more tears drip through her hair.

    A cough from the medic breaks the moment.  “Clearly he is still feeling the effects of the cryo-sickness. He should stay here for further observation.”  
    Isabelle may not see it, but Spike does. Elder cocks a brow at her in a classic ’really?!’ then shakes his head. “I will see that his quarters are restored while you continue your ’observations’, Medic.”  
   “You mean the quarters you have given Sk’tch?”  
   “Obviously there will be modifications, but it would be best if he is with those he trusts.”  
   “My cousin has earn his own shop?!”  Spike starts to rise, but two firm larger hands on a shoulder and a forehead push him right back down.  
   “Yes, he has. He did not take the quarters willingly. He has grieved greatly for you but never completely gave up hope.”  And then with a heavy heart, tells him of the fate of his cousin’s only brothers.  
     With the news, Spike’s arms pull tighter to his body.  Isabelle tightens her grip as well.

    How can it be that she can feel the need to grieve with Spike even after all she has gone through and lost? She should be a complete wreck and a mess and yet her heart pours out for this man before her.  
   “Rest. Recover, young one.  We will have Sk’tch back aboard as soon as the storm subsides.”  He thumps the younger man’s forehead with solid sound, “That is an order.”  
    And there the green flush glares across her friend’s face. She just smiles.   
   She is going to like being here with these people.

~~~~

  
     Just as ordered, Spike and Isabelle remain in the medical bay for a couple ’days’, as best her brain can translate.  It gives Spike a chance to catch up on the major events the clan has gone through.  
   With a tablet given to Isabelle in what she considers ‘Yautja for Dumb Oomans’ she gets the Cliff Notes on how not to get herself killed by a faux pas in etiquette.  
     
    But quarantine is up. It’s time to integrate into Clan Life.  First step: home quarters.  
    Spike and Isabelle step into the corridor and silently he leads the way towards his old quarters and the attached workshop. For the first time since she has awaken on this ship, she is nervous, and it has nothing to do with the other Yautja giving her curious glances.  Not one glare, only glances or assessments.   
   These she is used to some of it as a female Israel sniper. A green grape in a red bunch.  An oddity who constantly has to prove herself. Constantly having to defend her right to be here. That she didn’t SLEEP her way into a position.  That she is NOT weak.  She is a skilled, honed soldiers, who just happens to be female.

    She looks up to the warm scented man beside her.  A gentleman,  Someone who could easily break a thousand hearts on Earth with a sparp mind, a kindness, and a genius all wrapped up in a nicely scented muscle pack.  Not too tall in stature or personality to be unobtainable. Confident, but not overly confident to be considered arrogant.  Funny in all the right sweet ways. Willing to put his ass on the line, but also smart enough to know when to haul his ass out of the way, yanking you by the arm along the way.  
    But she isn’t sure of all the scars on his heart that keep him a bit reserved. More willing to put his physical ass on the line than to open up.   
   Isabelle shakes her head lightly. These kind of guys who are gentlemen enough to be kind but clearly are reserved due to past heartbreaks are the ones she is always a sucker for.  She never makes an actual move, it’s just that they are all to easy to fall for. Therefore, when those feelings start to come up, she leaves or finds a way from them to go away from her.  
   Not this time.  
   She’s done running.

   He stops before a door, tracing the design made with wires and other electronic things.  
   “This will only be temporary. I will keep my promise to Royce and get you home.”  
   Her heart chills at his promise.  
   Spike palms the door, and it parts before she can respond. He stalls in the door way. His work space. Although it is reorganized, it is still organized. He smiles.  
   The door to the left is closed. His old quarters that now belong to his cousin.  
     To the right, is a recently cut bulkhead with a new open door. A deep breath, and he moves.

     Isabelle wanted to take his hand to return the comfort he has been giving her recently, but does she dare? Instead she is moving past the different pieces of equipment in various stages of repairs and all their corresponding tools.  
    In the room, it looks simple enough. A few containers, a bed and another door at the end of the room.  And a window.  Currently it stares out at the stars as the other side of the ship is facing the planet they are orbiting. The same planet his remaining family member is stranded on.  
    “I hope you can be reunited with your cousin soon.”  
    He nods heading for a specific container. “I will sleep in the shop so you can have privacy.”  
      
     Her resolve breaks. His last gentlemanly act shatters her.  
    “Spike,” but he doesn’t seem to hear her. So she moves.

     He sets one container aside and reaches the second one, popping the catches and lifts the lid. His eyes close, the mandibles widen as he inhales.  
   He’s never looked more handsome soaking up the scents of his personal home.  
    A hand slides against the hanging hand at his side and he stills. Her fingers weave between his and he turns to face her. “Isz’bl?”  
   “I-I don’t want to be alone…,” she starts.  
    His head dips, dreadlocks falling over his shoulder like some fairytale romantic knight of long ago. “When Sk’tch’s human female friend returns, I’m sure you both could have one of these rooms, Sk’tch and I could share until we get you back home. Do not fret, Isz‘bl.  My cousin is honorable.”  
    Isabelle presses closer to take his second hand which has him blinking to the intimate move. “I don’t know her, I know you.”  
     His throat bobs. And then she drops the final bomb.  
    “What if I am already home?”  
    He shakes his head ever so slightly. “Isz’bl….,” there is a longing in her name, but a bit unsure.  
     Her own throat bobs and the dark eyes close, “Unless of course you don’t want…” her heart doesn’t dare say it.

     And now here he is. A feeling he never wanted to experience ever again,  Every time he touches her, even just a brush of arms his whole being swells. It’s only been one day on the rescue from the Bad-Planet and the last three in the medical bay, the rest they were unconscious.  
   Still….He doesn’t want to let her go. Ever.  
   She just said she wants to stay…with him.

   “I don’t want you to go,” he tugs her hands to bring her closer to him, releasing one to bring his hand around her back.  
   Her freed hand slides up his chest, thumbing that central line of soft spikes along the way.  “Then I won’t.”  
    She arches up on her toes, continuing her hand up over his collar to cup the back of his neck, bringing her face closer to his.  
    He’s not exactly sure what she wants, but he leans in to press his own forehead to hers, but before they can touch, she nuzzles her cheek against a lower mandible.  A cute sound comes from her, making his purr come to life.  
   “You kept your promise, Spike. I’m home.”  
   He chokes, and clutches her to him.


	3. Dusk until Dawn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **WARNING**  
> Death during child birth mentioned. A husband and father's grieve is explored.
> 
> I am going to rip out Spike's heart, stomp on it, crush it.... and then glue it back together carefully.
> 
> Love-making scene.

Spike 3

   And here they are.  Neither one frivolous when it comes to sex. In fact neither really participates in the carnal act of ‘sex’.  They are love-makers. The act of giving and receiving of intimate bodily touch effects their hearts and souls as well.  
  Neither are fools either.  
  A draw like this is all too easy to fall for. Each knows the other is emotionally compromised right now. Maybe that is part of the draw? Because they KNOW the other is not frivolous with their attention.  If they do this, it will bind them. To separate after this will leave deep scars on their emotional lives.  
  Can they risk their hearts …again?  
  Can they risk being the one to possibly bring pain to the other?

   All this is conversed by just looking into each other’s eyes and by the way no one else has made a move yet. Each waiting for the other to decide if this is a mistake,  
   If the other backs away now, then there will be this awkward tension between them, until they are looking into each other’s eyes like this once again.  Will that be in a few days, or a few minutes?

    His palm doesn’t move from the small of her back, but the backs of his fingers softly graze up and down.  Waiting for a signal from her.  
    Her fingers fondle the handful of dreadlock roots at his nape. Waiting for him to signal her.

    His smell is going from olive wood in spring, to warmer and then hotter day of summer. Her lips part trying to draw in more and more of his increasing scent.  
   He notices she doesn’t smell of being in heat, but her scent is softly becoming more and more alluring. He would not call it straight out ‘arousing’ although it does have that effect as well. But it is more of her becoming more tempting, than entrapping.  
   His purr increases. It’s slow, but increasing in a volume.  
   She mewls, and doesn’t care that the sound has escaped her throat. Her hand puts a bit more pressure on his neck, whether she means to or not.  
   His fingers unfold, turning his palm into a pivot for the fingers to increase their coverage of caresses.  
   He can feel her lungs inhale deeply. She feels his torso take in a shaky breath.  
    
   Finally her eyes pull from his and to his gentle resting mandibles.  He releases her other hand so that he too can fondle her locks. Her now freed thumb caresses one mandible; the purr surges then settles back.  
   She smiles brightly, and does it again, checking his eyes. He surges the purr again, tiny mirth in those eyes to her smile.  
   She blushes badly, and he playfully tugs her hair.  
   The thumb leaves his face and strokes down his neck. There on his bare shoulder, now that she is this close to him, she can see a scar. Her thumb traces it, and his chest does a double hitch.

   Quickly she looks up, but his eyes are closed and his head is tipped low and to the side away from her. Her hand stills. “I’m sorry, should I stop?”  
   “No, please don’t.” But she doesn’t. So he turns his head back to her and his eyes are so watery, as if tears are about to spill. “I loved her very much.”  
    Isabelle blinks. With just a look, he is telling her it is alright to examine the scar on his shoulder.   
    The thumb can see there are two arcs of teeth marks. But on his collar and a bit on his neck, puncture wounds. Her thumb and then her fingers trace each mark.  
    “When we make a commitment to a Life Mate, we leave our mark.”  
   “Like our wedding bands or a tribal tattoo?” She nods in understanding.  
   “Yes, but it can not be removed. Nor is it wanted to be covered.”  
   She smiles.  “I can understand that.”  Of the Yautja she had seen in the medical bay and even in the passing of the corridors, she has not seen this kind of scarring before. “I take it,  it is not common?”  
    He shakes his head lightly making those suede dreads swish against them both.  “It is more common for a female to have pups by different males to increase the strength of their lineage.  Like wise for a male.”  
   “To limit yourselves to one mate limits your options in the gene pool.” she can understand the biology for their species.  Even on Earth, there are cultures that are not monogamous. A man with many wives has a chance to outbreed his neighbors and hold more land-titles.  Here, seeing how brutal the fighting can be, it explains why you would want to have so many offspring in hopes that your stronger blood lines survive.

    But Spike choose only one. And by the sadness in his eyes, she died.  
   “You will always love her, Spike,” she pokes him in the chest to make it clear he damn well better always hold onto that love he had for his mate.  
   He gives a light snuff and then a light cough to try covering the hitch in his heart. “She is unforgettable.”  
   Isabelle even giggles to that.  
   His own thumb traces over her left hand ring finger.  “What of you? I see no commitment band.”  Then with a light tip of his head, “No human male mate?”  
   She folds her fingers over his, and lightly shakes her head. “I have tried to make relationships, but…. It’s not easy as a female sniper.”  And then her fingers are very tight to his to further explain, “I have not wanted to chose between career and parenting.  I have not wanted to be a parent.”  
   “And they would attempt to make such demands on you?”  Spike knows that unlike Yautja culture that reveres females and they control much of the life of the Clan, Earth still has most of it’s cultures that have the males as the leaders.  Rarely is it a partnership.  
    
   “Would you?” She asks.  
   Once more his head tips in a way that says it all:  ‘are you serious?’  Instead he voices, “I would be a fool to demand anything of you.”   He stroke her cheek and then nuzzles into her ear, “I might ask, beg, or even plead, but could not and would not ever order or command you to do anything.”  
     She absolutely melts. Each word has her leaning closer and closer to that sultry breath against her neck.  “What-what do you beg of me now?”  
    He tugs at the shoulder of her wrap around halter top she made out of medical fabric. There he kisses and nibbles her shoulder-neck junction. “Make me yours.”  
    “No,” she rolls her head against his. He knows she is not rejecting him, but has another way she wants to identify their relationship. “I commit my life to walk beside yours.”  
    A cry. He cries out. “Ah, ah.. Yes… my love.”  
   And she tips her head aside giving him room to sink his teeth in. He does. The room floods of her arousal scent, bringing his own to answer! His chest swells to the point he is sure his ribs are breaking outwards. Her hand and blunt nails dig in as hard as they can to his nape refusing to let him back away. If anything, she is telling him to make them deeper.  
    And she can feel the drops of blood trickle down her back and chest. All four mandibles and both arcs of teeth are marking her for life. Her head nuzzles against his, taking one of his deadlocks into her teeth, her tongue playing with it.  
   A different kind of growl comes from him. One she likes, and so strokes her tongue again.

   After he is sure his jaw will be sore, he backs the mandibles out and then lifts his head. Her eyes are lust-drugged.  
  “Wow, can we do that again?”  
   He smiles, “As often as you like, Beloved.”  
   She strokes over his own marked shoulder, “I want a whole series along…”  
   His eyes flare and somewhere between a growl-purr rumbles through them both.  
   She beams and leans in. First she kisses, then licks until she feels his knees starting to wobble and he sinks to the bed, pulling her to his lap.  He taps his shoulder right over his first mate’s mark indicating he is ready for her bite.  
   She grips his chin and shakes his head ever so slightly, “I will not replace her. I will add to your life.”  
   “I… I think I’m in love.” He chokes.  
   “I think I am too.  I’ve never wanted to be with anyone like I want to be with you.”  
   He can not speak and just nods.

   And she moves. His skin might be tougher than her own, and her teeth blunter, but it does not stop her determination.  She continues until she can feel the liquid of his blood and it’s unique taste.  Not acidic and horrible, but also not something she craves (like chocolate!) The sound he gives off IS delicious though.  And the way he cups both her ass and her head at the same time, crushing her into his body is intoxicating. She bites that much harder!

     He roars! Not a roar of pain, but a roar of triumph. He has loved again!!!

     She pulls back wiping the green from her lips and smiling at him. “Did I make you do that?”  
   He rolls them, her to her back on the rabbit-soft pelts and the he arched over her. “Yes, you have made my heart roar once again.”  
    She twirls a right and left finger around a right and left dreadlock with a tug.  And then slides an ankle up the back of his calf. “Good.  What other sounds can you make?”  
    Oh those topaz eyes go dark. “Me? What of you?”  
    “Come find out,” she tugs pulling him further over her.

    She takes one dreadlock putting in between her teeth, flicking her tongue over the tip. His hips twitch.  
    He slips a claw tip through the knot on her tunic loosening it.  
   She blatantly palms his chest, plunking a finger down each and every hair of his central line. Thankfully this belt has a similar closure to the last one, for soon it is released, and the shoved off his ass, where it thuds to the back of his knees. With a shake of each knee, it falls to the floor.  
   Next is the soft cod covering.  Back on the Bad-Planet he had worn a more armored one, obviously to protect sensitive bits better that the free flowing fighting style loincloth could not cover.  Here on the safety of the ship, only a softer leather one is needed. And he is straining against it. He snarls when she doesn’t remove it fast enough.  
   She is about to laugh, until she sees how badly he had been strained against it!  The erection is proportional to his height, but in it’s natural softened state, that cod piece must have already been snug. Erect, this has to be painful!  
   Her smaller hands massage the length and then the exposed testicles. Feeling the complete underside, she can feel how they would tuck behind pelvic bones up into the body cavity when the cod is on. But apparently they are just a swollen as the poor penis.  
   He snarls a bit  Not an unhappy one though.  “Isz’bl,” he growls.  “Get these wrappings off.”  
    He rolls to flop to his back and watches her strip herself bare.

     Beautiful dark skin with darker areolas. Well muscle toned and hips sturdy enough for --  
   “Fuck,” he curses rolling his head aside and snarling at the wall. He can’t do this!  Not after what happened!

     Isabelle stops instantly, even though she is stripped bare, it is clear something has triggered his memory. All too easy she could ask what is wrong, but he is no idiot, he knows she knows something is wrong.  Instead, she hooks one finger around one of his to let him know she is not leaving, but nor is she pressuring him to reveal his pain. He’s not alone though.  
   He closes that finger around hers.  
   “She died because of me.”  
   In too many movies, the partner says, ’No, it wasn’t your fault.’  It has always bugged Isabelle that such a line is popped off all too easily.    
   Spike feels like his wife’s death was his fault, and who is she to say it wasn’t?  She wasn’t there.

    Spike knows Isabelle should know.  And he knows that whatever happens, he knows she will stay in his life, even if she leaves the room after he spills his confession.  
    With a deep breath, he pulls his hand from hers.

     “We made our commitment, against her parents orders.”  He turns to face her. “They can, because she was Elder Pu’ko’s granddaughter.  Because she hadn’t even had her first pup and chose me to be the only one to sire hers.  I hadn‘t even passed my Chiva yet…. They had that right to disapprove.”  
     Isabelle nods softly, “The older man that welcomed you home? The one with all the, what’s the word, things on his clothing.  The Grandfather?”  
   Only a mandible flicks in slightest amusement to her calling the Elder’s triumphs ’things’.   “Yes, him.  He understood how we felt, but he wasn’t here at the time our commitment became known. We did it that way so he wouldn’t have to be involved in taking a side.”  
   “Ah, I see. He likes you?”  
   Spike nods. “Calls me son when no one is around.”  
   “That’s really sweet.”  She smiles.  
   “She was his favorite,”  Spike frowns pulling his hands over his face.  The silence is haunting 

   “Three miscarries,” he finally reveals.  
   Isabelle ’oh’s’ softly.  
   “Her parents told her to find another to sire her pups and never tell me.  Blamed my… my…,” he flicks a hand to his shoulder and chest spikes, “my deformities for the damaged young.”

   Bile rises to Isabelle’s throat. Who could ever be so MEAN as to say such a thing! How dare anyone break a father and husband’s heart by saying such a thing!!  
   Spike hears her knuckles cracking as her hands become fists.  He drops one hand from his face to cover a fist. “Pu’ko put a stop to it, as soon as he heard.”  
   “I knew I liked him,” although it comes out through clenched teeth.  
   
   Spike opens one eye and can see just how furious she is. As much as his heart is sick in retelling the death of his mate and children, it also flips to see her grieve with him. He pats the fist.  
   “I told her we should stop, but she refused. Spent a vigil with Paya’s priests as I trained for my Chiva.  Even though as a technician, I didn‘t need to, but I was trying to appease her parents.”   The eyes close, and so does the hand. “And it happened. Once again.  The night before I left for my Chiva, we apparently conceived.”  
    The knot in Isabelle’s gut tightens.  
    Tears leak behind his fingers. “We made it further than we ever had before. She didn’t want any scans. She put all her faith in Paya, and even though I had my concerns, I would not dare cross her faith.”  
   “You are a very sweet man to do so.”  
   “Her belly swelled.”  He looks up to her, “And so did our dreams.  We were so happy.”

     And then he is silent.  The chin wavering.  She knows he will tell her when he can.  So she lays beside him and touches his cheek. Stroking it and then up to that beautiful crest-like-crown of his. She lets her fingers caress each and every dip in the flare. The beautiful blending of toast and brown.  
    “I was-wasn’t there.”  He whispers. “I should have been there.  I promised her I would be there!”  
    His eyes are no longer their beautiful color she recognizes in his happiness. No, these are shot full of green-blooded pain. “I-I broke my promise.”  His voice cracks.  
    Isabelle’s heart snaps.  Her own tears spill over and she clutches his head to her chest, burying her face into the crown.  
     “Conjoined daughters…. We were to have two daughters.”  He sobs.  “Paya was going to bless us with TWO daughters!!”  He wails. “But-but…. My genes… and she… her heart gave up… she said she failed me… But I failed her.  I lost my mate and my daughters and I wasn’t even there!!!”  
   Isabelle openly sobs with him.

   It is all making sense to her now.  When they found him tied to the post on the Bad-Planet, he had already given up.  He believed that the capture had been his punishment for living while his family and then again his teammates died.  When many others had died at such treatment, his curse was to remain alive while they tortured him further and further.  
    Those Bad Bloods had no idea that whipping and cutting him was nothing that he wasn’t already doing to himself.   
   The death of the teammates he was supposed to be protecting was just one more lash to his heart.  
   He had already given up on life.  The humans cutting him down was no great loss if they betrayed him. He did not care if he escaped the planet.  If he could get the innocent off, it was good enough for him. He did not expect to get off the planet alive.  
   And then, Royce begged him to get her home safely. A new promise to try keeping.  To find and stop anymore innocents from becoming victims to these Bad Bloods, a goal worth living for.  
   A new reason to live.  
   That is why he thought Paya had blessed him with her coming into his life.

   He looks up to her, tear streaked face. “I’m scared.”  
   “It’s alright, I’m scared too.  I’ve never been in love like this before.”  
   “It hurts…. a lot,” he warns.  
   She smiles through her tears, “Will you help me through?”  
   “You… you do not think less of me for killing my mate with my seed?”

    Her throat closes down on that.  Oh God he thinks that because he loved his wife so much, that their love killed her.  
   She shakes her head, “I think of you stronger for not giving up on the hope of having a family.”   
   There is no WAY she is going to tell him that his thoughts are wrong.  It pissed her off when people told her ’not to think that way’.  Who are they to know what roads she has walked?   
    No, she will help Spike to see he has much to give.  He has much hope to propel for so many others.

    “I… I can not give you my seed at this time.”  He gulps.   That could really put a damper on their love-making.  He is once more concerned how she will take the news,  
   Sure she could tell him she has several rods of Norplant to go through before conception could be possible, but that is only part of the point.  He is not ready.  And she does not want to push him.  He needs to move through his grief at his own pace.  
   It is clear they have much to explore together.

   She sits up and takes his hand placing it on her belly and then sliding it up further, just under her breasts. “Would you be willing to spill your seed… else where?”  
    His eyes go wide.  
   She is working with him. Respecting his boundaries!  Making adjustments.  And damn is she a bit kinky-fun!  
   “Oh Paya has forgiven me!”  He rises to one elbow panning that hand out over her chest.  
   She smiles, “Besides, we have a few Bad Bloods to hunt down before I am ready for a family.”  She smirks at him, “I might be a badass and be able to cover your sweet ass,“ she cocks her head to glance at said toned ass, then returning to his wide eyes, “But I would rather not do it carrying a few extra Yautja-pounds.”  
   He throws his head back howling in laughter.

   She uses his laughter to her advantage.  Gripping his wrists, she thrusts him to his back and straddles him.  “Besides, no one ties by husband to a post but me!”  
   His hips surge up and that seductive purr-growl comes back out.  
   “Show me!”  He pleads.  Absolutely pleads.

    Using her teeth, she nips and tugs at those spikes on his chest.  She flicks one with a tongue tip. As she wriggles lower, releases the wrists and grips his sides. He rises up to both elbows watching her.  She lifts her eyes to watch his expression as she  pinches one spike near his belly button between her front teeth and slowly pulls on it. It rises, pulling on his skin too.  
   He hisses. The sensation is bringing his arousal back-- raging hot.  
   And then she lets it go. “God these are fucking sexy!”  She licks his centerline, loving the way each spike tickles her tongue.  
  He grunts, erection twitching against her own centerline.  She smiles, and wriggles her body. The topaz eyes roll and he grunts again.

     Her mouth moves even further down to the ‘spikes’ that are more velvety than rubbery surrounding his very maleness. Her tongue first plays with the patch, and then the length.  
   He is panting.

    Since his mate’s death, arousal has been few.  And even if his body wants to be aroused, he hasn’t the heart to do anything about it. One thought or one pull up of the last image he has of his dead mate with their dead daughters, and it is banished!  Nothing to be happy about.

     So to have both his body and heart on the same page is taking his breath away!  
   Isabelle slows her attention inching her body up over his panting one, framing his face with her hands. She smiles, “Hey, no fair hyperventilating and passing out making me call the medic. I do NOT want to explain this to her.”  
   His laugh is broken up by catching his breath.  “Oh please no!”  He closes his eyes and gathers his breathing. “I haven’t ….since….”  
    She lays down on top of him and beams. “I haven’t in many, many years.”  She taps her arm showing the markings of her Norplant rods.  “I only have these in case some idiot manages to incapacitate me an THINKS raping me into pregnancy will get me to weaken.”  
   He blinks,  thumb rubbing over the lines. “What are these?”  
   “Contra-ception.”  She breaks the word so he can understand. Anti-conception.  
   “But humans…,” he is so confused. The Yautja females are looking to propagate and bring more life to the clan, why would human females-  
    She smiles and taps him right on his little ‘nose.  “Because some of us are not ready, just yet.  They enjoy the comfort love making can bring, but not necessarily ready for the parenting part.”  She makes his finger trace the rod lines again, “When my husband and I are ready, -together- I will no longer need these.  Until then, we will enjoy the comfort of each other and not stress about pregnancy.”

    He grabs her pulling her mouth between his splayed mandibles.  It might be awkward but it is also completely sexy to kiss this alien mouth.  His tongue slides out and hers meets his, enjoying the new exotic taste.  
   She hums and moans into his mouth and he purrs in the ever so sexy harmonic, sliding a hand over her nice hip and down over her rear.  
   To her delight, he slips a finger with the broken claw down further until it reaches the core of her arousal. Touching it, instant the room waffs and he churs in success.  
   HE is what makes her moan more: his touch or his sound.  Either way, she is moaning and he seems rather pleased with himself.   
   His delight has her heart swelling even harder.

    She has watched him go from dead broken to willing to try loving again.  She swells with pride, not for herself, for that is foolish:  but for him.  It’s not easy to try loving again after such tragedy. He’s taken the risk to try living again.  
    And she will stand by his side.

    OooooHHH, most certainly if he can do THAT with a single finger.  
   He chuckles, and brings the other damaged finger into play.  
   She smirks, “I just might have to break off a few more of those claw tips.”  
   He beams, “I do not think so, my dear.  Tomorrow, I will show you what claws can do.”  
   “Not tonight?” she teases.  
   The look is menacing. “Noooo, not tonight.”  
   And she whimpers to whatever it is he is doing with the pads of those fingers.  
   “Nice try, not happening.”

   Using his nice belly, pushes herself upright, riding down on his hand.  He has to arch up keeping his hand in position. That brings her chest to chest with him, his spikes tickling her nipples and having her bite down on a lip.  
    “Allow me,” he leans in first licking at her lip and then taking it between his smaller set of teeth, mandible doing that same inching thing against her cheek that his fingers are doing inside.

    Soon enough she is panting and panting against him.  Whining.  Her mouth falls slack, lip still between his teeth.  
   “That’s it,” he whispers.  
  Devious bastard knows exactly what he is doing.  Then again, he did impregnate his wife several times!  
   And that tips her over the edge!  
   Her fingers are gripping him so tight and slicking them up. He has to dig claws into his own erection to keep himself from going off just yet. Sure he could go more than once tonight, but he’s not sure how much longer she will last before SHE passes out.

    Once he is sure he has dropped his own arousal a point, he removes his finger from her and releases her lip.  She watches as he slowly licks his fingers clean. The half lid eyes tell her all she needs to know.  
   What he doesn’t know, is that she keens over again just by watching him enjoy himself.  
   That brings the topaz eyes wide. So he does it again slowly.  
    
 She plants a hand to his chest center and--- Shoves.  
    He slams to his back still sucking on his fingers.  
   She reaches down and grabs him.  “Tell me when to stop, alright?”  
    He nods.  
    And she mounts him.  
    It’s his jaw that goes slack this time.   
    Even though he has played with her, she is still nicely snug around him. OH! And then she takes him in further. OHOH!  And then FURTHER!  By the third thrust she has him well seated.  
   He watches her slide her hands over her own body, rising and falling on her knees as she withes in ecstasy.  His mate-- correction, first mate-- liked to do such a thing, saying that his body made her feel sexy.  Apparently Isz’bl is enjoying the way her body feels making love with him.  He likes that!  
   She glances down and takes his hands.  Now she is using his broader hands over her curling and writhing body. Something this strong should not be able to move so lithe and sensuous. He churrs encouraging her to keep going.  
   And she does!  
   Clamping his hands to her hips, she jams herself down fully to his hips.  Grinding and grinding as if she is trying to suck his testicles inside as well.  He knows exactly where her cervix is!!  
   He eyes have rolled back, mouth slack again and panting.  He can not even describe the sounds she makes.  Maybe they are words, but they certainly don’t mean anything coherent.  No, just how much pleasure she is experiencing!  
    The only thing holding her up is his hands and now he is panting too.

    “Hold onto me,” he pants.  She flops forward and he cups her body, rolling them.  
   And now he is looking down on her love-drugged form. Oh, she is gorgeous splayed out and all flushed by the heat they have made.  
   He continues the movement, the thrusting now being his.  
   “Yes!” She is practically screaming.  
  That tightening and heat in his groin he hasn’t felt in years and years comes faster than he would like, but here it is.  He doesn’t trust this ‘Norplant’, but he does trust himself.  
    Pulling out, palms the slicked organ and in two pumps, spills his heated seed all over her belly (above her womb) and up her centerline.  
   To his shock, she splays her fingers over the mess, spreading it all over her body.  
   “Oh fuuuck” her translator draws out his words.  
   “Oh yesssss,” she smiles back at him, continuing to spread the mess over her chest and then eyes locked to his, licks her palm. “Ummmm, like.”  
    To both of their surprises, he lets off one more spirt.  It might not be much, but clearly, he was quite aroused by her display.  
    And then she inches a finger to him.  “Come here, lover.”  
   He leans down, bracing himself over her.  
   “Closer,” she whispers, and tugs him down by a handful of dreadlock on each side.  
   “Oooof”  he grunts landing on top of her.  And she giggles wriggling herself against him.  
    “ooooo I like this!”  
   “Making a mess?”  He cocks a mandible at her.  
   “Being against you.  I love the way these spikes feel. Quite a turn on.”  She plays with his shoulders.  
   “Hm, well maybe I should shave them off.” He smirks.  
   “Don’t you DARE!”  She jerks one, “Why would you even consider doing so?”

  Oh-oh, there’s that cheeky look of his.  “Well, I might not get any work done or any sleep if you are so turning on by being against me.”  
    Her hand slaps his bare backside and he grins chuckling loudly.   
   She loves the sound of him laughing so warmly.

    Her fingers grip his ass tightly, “Well just for that, you are not going to clean up before sleeping or going into the shop to work.”  
   “Shop?”   
   “Um, hum.  Pu’ko warned me that you might spend all your time in the shop and it was my job to make sure you eat.”  
   He slumps to his side, arm holding her snuggly against his own length. “Yeah, he would.”  But then he smirks, “But I do not think the shop is as alluring as you.”  A claw trails down her spine.  “I may not want to leave your side.  My work may suffer.”  
   First she nuzzles her nose into his chest, then  pressing her ear to his chest. “If you think I am going to feel bad about that, you are sorely mistaken”  
   He chuckles ever so lightly. “Alright.”  His fingers carefully comb through her hair, enjoying the feel of her softening further against his body.

    When he is sure she is well on her way to sleep, he tugs the covering over her.  He does not worry about himself. This can not get any better.

~~~~  
      The shop doors part, and the scent hits Scratch like a wall.  Quickly he turns round and blocks Lex from entering. A quick glance proves that the new quarter doors are still open.  NOT the introduction he would like Lex to witness.  
    “Um, Lex.  Could you go to the commissary and get those pink berries.  And maybe a couple of those purple ones you like.”  
   Lex is no dummy.  Scratch is trying to distract her.  “Ahhh, okay.  About how long should I be gone?”  
    He snorts.  Yeah, she is no idiot.  “I’ll page you. Get enough for four, alright?”  
    She smiles, “Alright.  Don’t make it too long.”  
    He holds his hands up, “I’ll do my best.”  
     
    Spike hears the other female human leave, and the shop doors close.  And then his cousin’s sigh against the main door.  And that’s when he notices he left his quarter’s door open.  
   Oh shit that probably means he can smell exactly what he and Isz’bl have been doing.  He hears the footsteps and makes sure his companion is decently covered, hiding his own lower bits.  
    Scratch leans on the door frame and peeks in.  With a soft sigh of relief, he is pleased to see his cousin’s healthy topaz eyes. And his companion covered.  “I’m glad you are home.”  Then he thumbs to the main doors.  “Let me know when she should come back.”  
     Spike smiles to one he considered more like a littlest brother than a cousin.  He’s certainly grown in stature and there’s a straightness to his shoulders that express responsibility well earned.  
      “Congratulations on the shop.  I’m looking forward to working with you.”  Then he arches his head back to the other doors behind him.  “Facilities?”  
    “Yes, we each have earned our own.”  And then he pokes a finger at the dark haired lump next to Spike.  “I take it she is going to share your quarters?”  
    “Is that alright?”  It’s loaded with concerns as to how this recent relationship will be taken,  
    Scratch smiles, “If anyone has a problem, they can take it up with Elder Pu’ko.”  
   “But you?”  
   That makes the younger one laugh and scratch into his own crown, a little blush on his cheeks.  “I… I might need your advice later.” And chews on one mandible.  
   Spike’s jaw drops!

    “Ummm, Spike?   Did I hear voices?”  
     Ever so tenderly, Spike uses one claw to pull some of the hair from her face.  He keeps her tucked against his body to conceal her modesty. His voice is soft but full of tender husk, “My cousin, Sk’tch has arrived home.”  He points to the door near the foot of the bed.  
    Isabelle looks from her lover to where he points.  The younger Yautja is still leaning against the doorframe, respectfully not entering the private quarters. He wiggles his fingers at her in an almost childish wave.  “Hello.”  
     Her smaller fingers wriggle back from just above the rabbit skin pelt. “Hi. I’m Isabelle.”  
    The soft pelt slips off her shoulder and Scratch’s eyes go stark wide at the sight of the love-bite mark.  His eyes shift to his cousin’s shoulder seeing the same.  The new mates hold their breath waiting for the first reaction to their bonding.

    He smiles, hiding it badly behind a cough-fist.  His smile goes beyond his flared mandible, right up to his bright cheery eyes, nearly bouncing on his toes.  
    Isabelle looks back to her husband who rolls his eyes at his cousin and flops back to the bed.  “Oh shut up!”  
    Scratch and Isabelle laugh together. Which has Spike attempting to pull the covers over his face, but failing.  
   Instead, Scratch addresses Isabelle.  “Lex went to get some food for us all. Shall I tell her it is alright to come back?”  
    Isabelle’s smile falls, nervousness poking up.  “Um… yeah I guess so.”  
    This has Scratch confused. He tries to get an answer from Spike, but he is no help with his face still covered.  So he pulls upright, “I’ll close this so you can both get dressed.”  
    “Thank you, Sk--”  
    “Lex calls me Scratch, because it’s easier for her. You are welcome to as well.” He hopes this gesture will ease her nerves.  
    “Thank you, Scratch.”  
     The door closes and Scratch sends his message.

     Spike rolls to his side, and tugs on a lock of her hair just like she normally does to one of his dreadlocks.  “Hey, Are you alright?”  
    She nods, but it’s not convincing. His head tips showing he does not believe her.  “Is it stupid that I trust your Clan-family more than I trust my own species?”  
   He continues to play with her hair.  “No, it’s not stupid.  You have not been treated kindly by your own warriors who are supposed to be your comrades. And then you were dropped into a horrific situation with others you gave the benefit of the doubt, and were betrayed. Not just the one that poisoned you, but death. I know Royce did not intend to die, but he did.”  
    She leans into him.  “I love you, Spike.  You understand me.”  
    He tips her chin up to look into his eyes. “And I love you.  You do not have to trust her or my cousin.  I will explain to him in a way HE can understand. If that is alright with you.”  
    She nods.  
    “Alright.  We should get washed and dressed.”  He leans up holding a hand out to her. “You do know our kind have a very good sense of smell, correct?”  
    She smirks lightly. “Spike, even I can smell what we have been up to in here.”  
    He touches a panel on the wall, and an exhaust fan is heard.  She giggles and like young lovers walk hand in hand to the shower.  
     “We can spoil ourselves in this shower,” he smiles, lifting his face up to the falling water.  It’s a good laugh compared to their last shower together.

       They spend way too much time in the shower and when they emerge, Isabelle finds several types of clothing meant for Earth women in a wooden box just inside the door.  Someone has taken the time to make these of both soft cotton like fabric and different animal hides. They cover the body in several different styles.  
       She picks out one and  looks up to Spike as he fits on his leather cod-strap. “Spike,” he turns to her seeing her touch her bite marks, “These…. Are just for you and I right now.  I’m not ready to deal with anyone else.”  
     He steps closer and with a long thumb strokes over her chin and cheek.  “I know you love me. I know that you have bound your life with mine.  These are just an outward sign.  It is up to you if you want to share them or not.  I do not mind.”  She smiles.  “Sk’tch has seen them, but if you cover them, he will say nothing. He will respect your wishes.”  
   With a sigh of relief, she nods.  “But if you want-”  
   He smiles and throws on of his shoulder guards on.  It crosses his chest as he tosses on a loin wrap, and she sees how it attaches together. He shows her the loops.  “These hold the tools I most commonly use.”  
    Swiftly she throws on the single shoulder wrap-around tunic tying it with a simple knot. “Warriors put ammunition in something like this, back on Earth,” she pokes his loops.  
    He taps his head. “Yes well this is my ammunition.”  
    With a light punch to his gut she teases, “Yeah well, someone better outfit me with a new scope if we are going to hunt down those assholes who took us prisoner.”  
     He walks to the door and opens it,  and splays a hand out to the work room. “Well, welcome to my world and let us see what we can do.”  
     
   She looks out to the workshop.  Scratch and the dark haired woman beside him look up from the assortment of food before them.  
    “Here goes nothing,” she mutters stepping out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you PaintedPagan.


	4. Take Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I wrote smut.  
> shower smuttttt.

Spike

  
  One of the Clan’s smaller exploration-family ships had been in a horrific ‘space storm’,  The actual name and details didn’t really matter at this point to Isabelle.  What did matter is that their cloaking systems had been fried and Spike and Scratch had been working double and triple time to fix the problem.  Some of it was software, but most had been hardware.  
   That also meant EVA for both of them.  And Lex.  She loves climbing around on risky precipices.  Isabelle, not so much.  Sure she’s had to get herself into some pretty weird spots to take a shot, but nothing like climbing up Everest! No thank you!  
   She was fine staying back in the shop doing what she could in the list of things the two shop-managers had left for her.  Some of this is no different that recalibrating, system checks, and a couple resoldered wires. Right up her alley.

   As much as did like having some time alone….  It has dragged on.  She’s missed Spike.  The sound of his deep voice, his olive wood scent, the safe companionship.  And truth be told… her mate.  Her gorgeous fucking mate.  
   “ARRRRRGGG!”  she roars loudly to the shop walls. She’s never really needed THAT kind of consistent attention until… him.  
   Her thumb rubs against the permanent marks that he manages to nail every single time he aims for them.  Making them deeper and more prominent. And rather proudly at that too!  
    
    When it finally was revealed that they were Life Mates, the clan was a whole lot more accepting than either of them had anticipated. Elder Puk’ko on the other hand who had ‘let it slip’ (yeah right!) was rather smug in his ‘I told you so’ look. Both Spike and Isabelle wanted to choke him, but that was not an option.  
   Since then, she has not minded, and even gotten to the point of wearing shirts that actually accentuate her Love Bite.  She’s even gotten a few looks of approval from some of the older females.   
   Spike, flushed at first not sure how she would take this, explained that they were impressed that she could handle such deep and repeated bites.  More tender skin, smaller frame, and such.  They did not expect her to allow him to mark her more than once. By the indentations, and scarring, it’s clear she has been bitten A LOT and frequently.

   One day she finally admitted to Saber, “He’s verrrrry good at it.  I can not resist.”  
   Spike was standing right there and his whole face flushed the deepest green she has ever seen.  Saber smacked him in the shoulder though and reminded him, “That’s a compliment, you oaf!”  
   “You should see the one on my ass,” Isabelle added just to watch him palm his face.  
   Saber roars with laughter causing everyone else in the commissary to turn to them.  
   The only thing is, that to see a male embarrassed by two females (one of them being your own MATE) laughing their heads off is not all that unfamiliar.  Not common, and certainly not wanted attention by any male, but any mated-male has been the victim of it.  
   “Let me see!”  Saber further encourages the room’s attention.  
   Isabelle turns her rear toward Saber, only to have herself wrapped in Spike’s arms, her rear end pressed to his own body.  By her giggling, everyone knows she is not being harassed by his move. If anything, he is trying to stop the harassment to his own dignity.   
   If only the poor guy understood showing off MORE love bites would actually be a compliment to his stature.  
   But, she is not a Yautja female and like hell is he going to let anyone else see his beloved’s sweet ass.  
   He leans into her ear, “I think it is time you get a matching one on the other cheek.”  
  She leans her head back to capture his eyes with her own and says it loud enough for Saber to hear, “Threat or promise?”  
   He narrows his eyes, “You told me never to make a promise I could not keep.”  As mirthful as that statement could have been, it’s actually something very sweet and straight to her heart.  He never promises to come back from a mission, only reminding her that he loves her very much.  Both of them know, accidents and incidents are beyond anyone’s control  
   Her whole body softens, and cups his sweet spike-speckled cheek.  “I love you.”  
   His forehead presses to hers. “And I, you.”

   And now here she is missing his freckled scalp and spike-sprinkled shoulders. Rather badly.  
   She decides a nice shower is sure to help….maybe.  Hopefully.  
    First she lets the water just spill down over her head, down her shoulders, and run over her body. Then with a soft cloth and floral scented soap lathers herself.  God how she wishes Spike was here right now.

   She doesn’t know it yet, but her wish has just been answered.  
   Spike enters first through the shop doors and sees that his personal quarter’s door is secured.  “Good,” he sighs and palms the door. It opens to his authority.  
   He enters the softly lit quarters. By the sound of running water, he knows exactly where she is.  Just were he was heading.  
    He shucks his gear and dirty clothing to the corner of the room, and palms the locked facility room.  Under the sound of the running water, she does not hear the door open.

    He takes a moment to marvel at the sight.  Five foot, seven inches of soft brown very wet female is relaxing in his wet room.  Her long fingered hands, and short ‘claws’ combing through her thoroughly soaked (and now straight) tresses. Soft breast with areolas as dark as the spotting on his own crown , pert little nipples waiting for his front teeth to tug on.  
   A torso muscled and strong enough to handle his physical needs. Hips wide enough and just the right size for his palms to cup and his claws to grip into her firm rear. That rear just pliable enough for him to grip, but firm enough in muscle tone to give as much as he gives back.  
   And then, there is that mysterious dark thatch. He licks his lips anticipating the scent that comes from there every time he touches her. Some times that sent is soft enough to just be alluring, but then other times it is a heady-heavy musk driving him absolutely wild.  
    Like her dark eyes, when they go darker. Those eyes are as intoxicating as her scent.  
    And they are staring at him right now.   
   One finger inching out, ordering him closer.  
   He moves as if there is an invisible string from her finger, to his chest.  Right under the falling water.  
   She reaches up, grabbing his lower mandibles, pulling him down for a very hot kiss.   
   Water maybe falling over his body, but her mouth is saturating him in lust.  Oh gods and stars beyond, she has been missing him badly. He does not need her musk to know this, her tongue is telling him quite clearly.  
   Softly he cups her side, letting all his claws play up and down her spine like a musician might a harp.  
   She moans, he purrs.  
    He wants to be soft, she needs him to be dominant.  He is normally a tender and gentle lover, the love bite being just that: loving.   
   Culture clash makes for interesting bed-fellows.  He is used to females being the dominant and it being a wrestling match to pin them down.  Isabelle has fought and fought to betaken seriously, but there is a side of her that lets those aggressive walls down.  Only for Spike.  
   Right now, her walls are gone.  She wants him. She NEEDS him.  But he has to be shown how to do this with her. He’s afraid of being too rough with her, even though he should know better by now.  
     
     First, she slides her hands down his sturdy shoulders , along his arms, drawing his hands away from her back.  She continues the slide along his forearms, and then they are palm to palm.  Even though her heart is picking up it’s pace in anticipation of her next move, her facial expression reveals nothing.  
  So he is completely taken off guard when she laces their fingers and yanks!  Absolutely yanks his hands and arms, slamming her own back to the wall, and forcing all his weight to his hands.  Fingers are entangled with hers, palms pinning her smaller ones to the wall, his feet quickly having to adjust in order to not slam his whole body against hers.  
   She is a little disappointed that did not happen.  Too quick on his feet for that move.  Still, she is partially pinned to the wall by him.  She raises one heel up his calf, over his thigh, and like a spur, jabs him in his own toned ass.  
  “Oooofph!” he grunts, as his pelvis slams against hers.  
   Before he can apologize, she throws her head back and whines. Grinding her own pelvis against his.

   Okay, he was turned on when he walked into his wet room. He was getting aroused when he watched her wash her body. He was firming when she hotly kissed him. NOW?  Full on raging erection. Painfully fast, pulling blood so swift from all his other senses he was dizzy.  
   “Oh… fuck,” he groans.  
   “Exactly,” she pumps her heel into his backside once again.  “Show me.”  
   He blinks.  
   “Take.     Me.”  
   He double blinks and gapes.  She has NEVER said that. She may have inclined it, may have thought it, but never has she ever actually said it out loud.  Sniper Isabelle is NOT one to be ‘taken’.  
   She sees his confusion, and softens her expression to help him understand. “Please.  I… I need it.”  
  That he can understand. “Alright.”  
     
   He moves their hands until he has a wrist under one of his palms. Firmly, but not too aggressively. He just isn’t comfortable with that.  
   She understands. He will be dominant, but under his terms, in his own way. After all, a relationship is constantly learning and growing together.  Not just with each other, but within themselves.  Later, he maybe more comfortable with being a bit more aggressive. And she will be ready to help him find her limits.  
    
    “Mine!” He snarls. And then grabs her free hand to wrap it around his lusting need. “You will feel this, deeply.”  
   She pants, nearly a chuff as he shows her exactly how he likes to be pumped. Far tighter than she imagined.  He then turns her wrist and has her palm his balls and squeeze until he moans painfully.  
   Her eyes are stark wide, his head lulled back, mouth gaping as he helps her squeeze and release,  squeeze and release. She tips her head down to watch what their hands are doing to him.  
   His cock is fully engorged, the head swollen, ridges fully exposed.  With each squeeze to his balls, the ridges swell, with the release, they relax a little.  
   Oh this is good information for the future.

   He rotates his head back to assess his lover. Her brain is spinning with new and devious ways to use this information.  Time to derail her train of thought, he smirks.  
   His hand yanks hers away, and palms her own thatch. Once more he snarls, and blatantly sniffs the air.  Humid from the shower, musky filled by both of them. He takes two of her fingers, and gently forces them into her own core. Three thrusts and on the fourth, plunges not just her two, but two of his own along with them into her.  
    She screams.  Shock more than pain echoes off the walls.  
   He chuffs in success to his move.  
    Aching with the need to adjust, she lifts her other leg and both are now around his waist. With this new leverage, begins to curl her hips in attempt to ride the fingers.  
   As punishment, he relieves her of said fingers placing the two hands together. The whine of protest is answered by his dark chuckle.  
   She glares, he cocks his head in silent reply that she did ask him to take the lead.  
   She glares harder, bucking her pelvis towards his.  First he pulls his own back, stretching her legs and back out in the process and secondly, palms her sternum.  “Stay.”  
    She pouts.  
    He flicks a pert nibble with a thumb’s claw tip.  
   She gasps.  
    Thumb lightly spring-releases a middle finger to flick across it this time.  
    Blunt teeth reach out, snatching a dreadlock and with a devious tongue, pull it into the mouth to suck, and lightly chew on it.  
   His eyes darken.  Devious, devious, minx.  “I was supposed to do what again?”  
    Although muffled around his dreadlock, she teases, “But… you weren’t-”

    Topaz eyes flare cutting her off instantly.  She did NOT just say he was not making love to her the way SHE wanted.  
    With that, he jams his pelvis forward, spearing her core on his cock.  
    All breath leaves her lungs.  
    And the bastard stays there. Not moving. She is stuck to the wall by both hands above her head, his spread palm to her chest and breasts, his hips firmly seated into hers. He leans in to press her forehead to the wall with his.  
   “You were saying?”  
   She can’t speak.  
   His eyes flicker just for a moment in concern, and she mewls to answer him. He knows she is not injured or afraid, just needy.  
   He drops his hand from her chest, returning hand to be squashed between them and pushes it further down between them only pulling his hips back slightly. There he spreads her fingers down over her soft mount, and on either side of his member.  Only her fingers touching them, him just holding her wrist.   
   “Feel that?” He seductively whispers in her ear.  “That is you, being taken by me.”  
   She sharply inhales, panting out her exhale.  
   He moves her hand so the fingers are stroking not just his base, but her folds.  
   A mandible grazes her throbbing pulse point. “That is not water slicking that. That is YOU enjoying being TAKEN by me.”  
    “Sp-ike,” she begs.  
    He only pulls his hips back a few centimeters, pushing back in.  Only enough for her to feel one of his ridges on the outside and how it moves against her folds as it enters her again.  
   A whine.  
   He gives her two ridges this time.  
   Another whine.  
   Three ridges.  
    She pummels his back with her heels, and he halts before the fourth ridge can emerge.  
   Absolute wail!  “SPIKE!!  Please, please fuck me!”  
   
    She’s been in a lot of situations that are torturous.  Heat. Biting bugs. Tight spaces. Unstable cover. Bullets whizzing over her head as she runs for her life.  Crazy alien dogs with sharp teeth chasing her through a weird jungle with scary humans she doesn’t trust-  
   But never ever did she think she could be sexually tortured. Deliciously, un-fuckingly agonizing,  sexually charged torture.  
     
    The strength of her lower torso he had underestimated. Her hips wriggle, her thighs squeeze, her core cinch down on his cock… He lets her have that fourth ridge, and watched her wriggle and squirm against him until she comes undone.  
    Just to drive him crazy, she is loud in her release. Letting the whole goddamned ship know how much she has missed her mate.  
    His heart swells.  Nothing like hearing his mate scream out in ecstasy.

   Can he do it again?  
   He doesn’t even wait for her to come down from her high, as he releases the pinned hand, to cup it under her rear and support her further. He moves.  
   Careful at first, she is -after all- up against a slick wet wall.  He jams a knee to the wall and pistons his hips.  
   Her remaining hand is still down bellow feeling him enter and exit her body.  Feeling her body coat him with a substance all hers, not at all the texture of shower water. Each and every ridge of his maleness sliding against her very female folds.  
   He chuffs into his thrusts.  
   She bites down on the dreadlock.  
   He growls in sexual delight.  
   Her hand goes to grab the back of his neck for purchase, snaring some more dreadlocks in the process.  
   The ankles latch together, but she lets him be the driving force of their union.  
   And he is driven hard.  
   That last trick of his, is to give a curling upper thrust to his hips has her keening once again.

   A final slam and he buries himself so deep, he is sure she swallowed one of his balls in the process. He can feel her knuckles digging into his own flesh, but just doesn’t have it in him (for the moment) to feel sorry for crushing her hand between them.  
   “Oh GOD!” She groans into her own additional climax, “I can feel you pumping it out!! So warm!” She tries to wriggle down to excite one more pulse of semen, but he is spent, head thunking to the wall beside hers.  
     
     “I’m stuck,” he pants. “Never moving from here ever again.”  
    She giggles.   
    Her hand wriggles, and he sucks in his gut enough for her to tug the squashed hand out, and loop it around his shoulders, hugging him to her tightly.  “Thank you.”  
  He turns his head ever so slightly giving her a confused look. “Oh my dear, that wasn’t EVEN me taking you.”  He smiles,  “That was just a sparring compared to a real conquest.”  
   “ooooooHH fuck.”  
   He beams. “Ooooohhh, yes.”  But his eyes close.  “But not tonight.”  He leans in and dangerously whispers, “Some time, when you aren’t expecting it….”  
   She is sure she just climaxed again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just in case you are curious, I'm known as Mamaofnuts on tumblr. Mamabot on deviantart and fanfiction.net


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